


birth of another;

by bloodynargles



Series: the death and life of Rhea Trevelyan; [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, cole's here, its oh kay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-01-25
Packaged: 2018-05-16 06:07:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5817043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bloodynargles/pseuds/bloodynargles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'A chess player?' They'd ask in the future, trying to get to know her, but Templars always fight and Templars always die when you need them the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	birth of another;

“Are you going to tell me I look like the sun on a clear morning, dear Templar?” Alcander laughs quietly, running a hand through red curls as he shakes his head, the soft, almost comforting clink of his armour echoing through the empty room. “You're certainly fiery enough, aren't you?” A childish part of her wants to whine that he can't answer a question with a question, but she doesn't want to ruin the moment, lest the world start moving again and they get caught. A huff falls from her lips and she looks away. Its playful, he knows that, knows her enough to catch onto her game, outmanoeuvre her before she slides her knight across the board.

'A chess player?' They'd ask in the future, trying to get to know her, but Templars always fight and Templars always _die_ when you need them the most. In the future, she wont let them in enough to feel the sharp pain of loss.

His fingers trace across her bare arm, skin on skin and goosebumps form before she can get ahold of herself, before she can deny him the look in his eyes. “You're more like the moons, Rhea.” Its barely a whisper, he moves closer, breath against her ear, lips pressed against her neck as she leans against his steady frame, wishing the stillness would last forever. “Bright, and bold,” Hands run up her sides, nose pressed into the crook of her neck before he goes on and she _trembles_ as his words hit her ears. “A lifeline to guide my way through long, dark nights where there is nothing on the horizon but their light. Your light.” It happens then. The rush, the spark that had shown itself so long ago, it grew and she _fell_ , all of her family's slander and hatred, the 'mark on a pure noble family of the Free Marches', it didn't matter. She had Alcander. She had him until the day they'd die, until one of the moons crumble and fall from the sky.

 

He repeats it, Cole. They're staring out into the nothingness that is the Hissing Wastes and he repeats it, her heart in her throat and she falters, eyes darting his way but he's looking at her with some kind of pain lacing his features, his voice dropping quiet and the subject falls on deaf ears for the moment. Solas talks about how the ruins were fascinating, even if they weren't Elvhen, Cassandra huffs but trudges along through the small grains of sand that get absolutely _everywhere_ – but Cole stays quiet, a lingering presence behind them and she knows all he wants to do is help but she doesn't _need_ help. Anyone who tries to help dies, Templars die, Genevieve died, everything ends in death and she knows its a curse, a burden she has to carry on her own. These people, the _Inquisition_ , they were too good to die because of her.

He talks, later, voice quiet, barely audible over the crackling fire they had set up after establishing the camp and clearing out the Venatori. The others had slunk off to their tents to try and sleep through the long, hot night in the wastes, but Cole had stayed, sat beside her when they had ate, listening to Solas' story with one ear but not really at all. “He didn't _want_ to die, didn't mean to.” She takes a swig from her waterskin but it sticks in her throat, the kind that no matter how many times she'd cough, it wouldn't go away. “I know.” Her voice falters, breaks and fractures like the blame she had put upon herself for so many deaths she'd caused. Stroud comes to mind and her head dips, the weight on her shoulders too heavy for her to carry in this moment. “You don't have to carry it all by yourself, let us help you. I'm here to help.” Tears sting at her eyes as she glances up at him, his voice sincere, eyes bright and understanding and she lets them fall, droplets of water that were hot against her cheeks drip to the ground, a smile stretching across her face as they sit there in silence.

 

She'd say thank you, later. When they were back at Skyhold and her voice was certain and strong, like a leader that knew, and not one that was falling apart at any given moment. “I'm here to help.” He'd repeat, and she would smile warmly, the weight of the world and the breach and the _death_ at the conclave lifting from her shoulders and she could _breathe_. She could start again. She _would_ start again.

**Author's Note:**

> cole hugs rhea everything is fine. this quizzy = PAIN.


End file.
